


I'm Not Daredevil

by onecent



Series: Eyes and Ears [8]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel
Genre: Gen, New Year's Eve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-10 19:19:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5597764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onecent/pseuds/onecent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt hosts a New Year's party, Clint is injured but still can make that cake, Natasha is a troll, and Foggy has questionable taste in sweaters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. New Year's Eve

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Aureux for the latest prompt.
> 
> And for WingsWithoutStrings, who has been prompting me through the last four shorts or so, the next one will be a cake. (Are you a prompt generator? You must be a prompt generator. What talent.)

As Matt headed home from work to change outfits and grab dinner, his phone rang with an unknown caller. He fished it out of his pocket and swiped at the screen a few times until it stopped vibrating, then held it up to his ear.

“I have a message from Clint,” a woman’s voice said.

Matt took a moment to place the voice. It was definitely one he’d heard before, and in connection with Clint, but it was definitely not Kate. Then he recalled the Christmas party at Avengers tower the week before. Clint had introduced him to the Avengers there, including the Black Widow, Natasha.

“Is everything all right?” Matt asked, growing concerned. Why was Natasha calling? Was it serious?

“He says that he’s sorry he won’t be able to make it to your New Year’s party tonight. He was going to make a cake, apparently, so I’m of the opinion that you actually dodged a bullet. Clint’s baking is barely palatable on missions, and certainly not when there are perfectly good bakeries right down the street.”

Matt paused as he was walking, with just enough presence of mind to step up next to a fire hydrant so he was further out of the way of the other pedestrians. “I…what? What happened?”

“We were on a mission, Clint got hurt, he won’t be able to make it tonight.”

“Is he okay? What happened to him?”

“I told you, he got hurt. I’m afraid I can’t really go into much more detail. He’ll be fine, he’s just on bed rest for a few days. He wanted to make sure you knew so you wouldn’t worry.”

“Well now I’m worrying!” Matt noticed a few people slowing down and turning toward him. He took a deep breath and made an effort to keep his voice low. “Can he have visitors?”

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line, followed by Clint’s voice, tinny as it came from across the room from where Natasha had the phone. “If he knows sign language, sure. Otherwise we’re going to have a hell of a time conversing.”

Matt frowned at that. “Is something wrong with his hearing aids?” he asked.

“He broke them again,” Natasha said. “And he got hit in the head pretty hard with some flying ice. Everything’s pretty scraped up, so he says wearing anything is painful right now.”

“So, what, he’s just got you to talk to?”

“Stark’s picked up ASL remarkably quickly. Bruce is learning, and Steve has some basics. We’ve got a system.”

“If he wants to come over,” Clint interrupted, “he’s welcome to. I enjoy seeing him, I just figure he should know that I’m kind of a mess right now.”

Matt thought about his planned evening. He was going to go home, shovel in some food, make a quick patrol around Hell’s Kitchen, and swing back to be ready for the party, which was starting at ten. There was no real way to move the party, but he could probably skip patrol for one night, right?

“Clint says if you want to come—“

“I heard.” Matt paused, wondering which way he should fall on this.

“I can send Kate to the party,” Clint continued. “So he won’t be down a Hawkeye. We’ll rain check for today and I’ll bake him that cake some other time.”

Clint wasn’t in any trouble currently, and who knew what sort of trouble people might try to get up to on New Year’s Eve. Besides, there was no work tomorrow. Matt could swing by then.

“Don’t take Kate away from her friends,” Natasha said. “Matt will be fine without a Hawkeye at the party, and he can visit you another time. Whenever you want, Matt, just let us know. We’ve got a suite up in the tower so everyone can keep an eye on this idiot while he recovers. You’re welcome to visit.”

With the plans set, Matt breathed a small sigh of relief. Everything would be good. He’d visit Clint tomorrow and have his party tonight. “I’ve got some free time tomorrow. I’ll swing by then.”

“Perfect. We’ll leave the locks off for you.”

Matt chuckled. “I appreciate it.”

“That’s not a joke. Strangers get too close to the tower and it locks onto their signal and has a camera and or a gun on them at all times. It’s a high honor to have the locks off. Enjoy it.”

“Oh.”

“She’s kidding, Matt!” Clint shouted. “I don’t know what she said but she’s kidding, she’s got her joke face on. Don’t trust her.”

“Spoilsport,” Natasha said. “I can’t lie to the guy when he’s in the room, now I can’t lie over the phone.” She huffed a sigh. “All right, Matt, I’ll see you tomorrow. Take care of yourself. Don’t wear the sweater Foggy got you; it’s got two reindeer humping on it. Wear the soft one. The green goes well with your sunglasses.”

“Um. Th-thanks?”

“Anytime.” 

The call ended abruptly, and Matt was left weighing his phone in his palm. “The Black Widow has a joke face?” he muttered to himself. “Wait, how did she know about the sweaters?”

———————————

Foggy was the first one at the party, arriving while Matt was still getting dressed. He’d had to take a shower after the patrol, which was a good idea on an average day but an especially good idea on a day when you’d run into a sewer slime monster and had fifteen people coming to your apartment. He grabbed a sweater from the closet—the soft one—and tugged it over his head as he stepped out to say hi to Foggy.

“Hey Matt. How—what the hell.”

“What?” Matt asked, automatically reaching up to pat at his head and make sure he had gotten out all the slime from his hair. “What’s wrong?”

“That sweater.”

“Huh?” Matt pulled on it. “I’ve had this sweater forever. What’s wrong with it?”

“I don’t ever remember you having an ‘I’m not Daredevil’ sweatshirt.”

“A _what_?”

“It says ‘I’m not Daredevil’ in big block letters. Where did you even get that?”

Matt felt the sweater, which felt just the same as the one he’d had for ages—no, wait, the cuffs on the sleeves were different, a little thicker than before…thicker than the other sweater.

“I can’t believe it,” Matt said quietly. Then again, louder, “I can’t believe it!” He pulled the sweater over his head and went running back to the bedroom for the sweater Foggy had gotten him.

“What can’t you believe?”

“I just got pranked by Black Widow!”

“By what now? Aw, come on! You meet the Black Widow?”

“Uh. And the other Avengers, yeah,” Matt said, emerging with the new sweater and tugging it on. “Sorry, I guess I forgot to mention it. Clint brought me by their place for a Christmas party.”

“I thought Clint liked me! Now I’m hurt.” Foggy’s heartbeat sounded a little strange, and he was warmer than normal, like he was trying to hold back laughter. Matt tugged at the sweater, which was now on backwards, tag scratching at his neck. He sighed and pulled his arms in to spin it around.

“He does like you. You didn’t have to meet the Avengers only to get Black Widow playing pranks on you. Now hush up about it. Karen’s here.”

Matt went over and waited for Karen to knock before opening the door and smiling. “Welcome!”

“Hey Matt, it’s Karen,” she said. She held out a plate. “I brought cookies. I—what the hell?”

“Oh my god, now what?”

“Your sweater, it’s got…”

Foggy, still with an erratic heartbeat and flushed face, bent over laughing behind Matt.

“Oh for heaven’s sake!” Matt ripped off the second sweatshirt. “Reindeer?”

“Did you know?” Karen asked, stepping inside.

Matt frowned over at Foggy, who had fallen onto the couch and was still laughing. “I got a tip-off, but it was from an unreliable source. I need better friends, apparently.”

“Why don’t you get the green one? Do you need help finding it? It’s a really nice color on you.”

Matt grimaced. “You know what? I think I want to wear a button-up. I’m swearing off sweaters forever.”


	2. Chapter 2

When Matt showed up at Avengers Tower at one o’clock New Year’s Day, he paused outside the building to listen carefully for the sound of any cameras or guns shifting to train themselves on him. All he heard was regular New York traffic. Shaking his head, he stepped up to the door.

A camera whirred over his head and a disembodied voice said, “Welcome, Mr. Murdock. We’ve been expecting you.”

Matt remembered the AI from his prior visits to the tower. “Good afternoon, JARVIS,” he said. “Elevators?” He stepped through the double glass doors.

“To your left, sir,” JARVIS responded. “Am I correct in assuming you are here to visit Agent Barton?”

“That’s correct.” He sensed the elevator doors opening in front of him and stepped inside. The doors closed behind him and he felt a tiny lurch as the elevator began to move.

“As a warning, he was feeling worse this morning, so the doctors have temporarily increased his pain medication. He has not been acting his usual self.”

Matt snorted. “Is he more or less of a jackass?”

“I will leave that deduction to your own considerable skills.” The elevator doors slid open again. “To the right, down the hallway on your left, and third door on your right.”

The directions were useful, but no longer necessary. Matt could hear Clint’s laughter echoing down the hallway toward him. He headed toward the sound, curious as to what was going on in the room.

Clint was alone. The television was off, there was no radio, and he didn’t seem to have a newspaper, book, or computer with him. He was lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, and laughing in bursts, going from a loud guffaw to a light chuckle and everything in between.

“What’s so funny?” Matt asked. There was no response. Frowning, Matt realized that Clint still may not have his hearing aids in. He listened for the telltale sound of humming electronics, but there was nothing. So instead, he stepped up close to the bed and leaned over Clint’s head.

“Matt! It’s so good to _see_ you!” Clint laughed again. “See what I did there? Oh!” He raised a hand. “I did it again!”

“He’s broken,” Matt whispered. “Someone broke Clint Barton.”

“I did try to warn you, sir,” JARVIS interrupted from overhead.

“Well, thanks. Is there any way you think I can communicate with him? Where’s everyone else?”

“Mr. Stark was previously in here, but while he seemed to enjoy the show he declared that he had actual work to do. Agent Romanoff has stated that she will not talk to Agent Barton while he is in this condition. She asked me to inform her when he is no longer ‘loopier than a collection of intoxicated chimpanzees.’”

“Whatcha saying, Matt? You come to talk to me? I missed you, you know. I wanted to be there. I was going to make a cake.”

“Yes, I heard.”

“You hurt? What hurt you? I’ll give ‘em what-for.” Clint struggled to sit up but just slumped back against the pillows. “No I got this don’t help me I’m fine.” He tried to sit up again, but his hand slipped against the sheets and he fell on his side, one arm draped over the edge of the bed. “I got this.”

Matt pushed Clint’s shoulder so he was lying on the bed again. “You are ridiculous. Just lay there.”

“What?”

Matt sighed and gestured as he spoke. “Stay there,” he said, one hand raised. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

“Too late,” Clint said, gesturing to the injuries that were presumably all over his body.

“How are you feeling?” Matt pointed at Clint.

“All right.” Clint shrugged. “Hurt bad earlier. Something something internal bruising, didn’t see it before, yada yada, tell your doctors about everywhere it hurts, blah blah. Same old. Now I’m on the fancy drugs. And you are…blue. Is that a new shirt? It’s nice, makes you look all swirly. Oh, oh! New shirt! Tasha said she gave—“ Clint cut off talking and just started giggling again.

Matt frowned. “It wasn’t funny.”

“I’m not Daredevil!” Clint screeched, pulling his legs up to his chest and immediately wincing. “Ow.” He slowly stretched his legs back out. “Did you like it?”

“It wasn’t my favorite gift of the season.”

“What?”

“No.”

“Aww.” Clint yawned. “I made you a cake. Was it good?”

“Uh…”

“Wait no! I didn’t make you a cake!” Clint tried to sit up again. “I need to make you a cake!”

Matt put a hand out to press Clint back down to the bed. “It’s fine. You’ll get around to it. There’s no rush.”

“But your party—“ Clint gasped. “I missed your party!”

“It’s all right. You can come to the next one.”

“Did you get the sweater?”

“I—what?”

Clint snickered. “I’m not Daredevil,” he chortled.

Matt began to see why everyone else had left. “Clint. Clint, look at me. Are you looking?”

Clint was still lying, laughing, on the bed.

Matt sighed. “JARVIS, is there any way to leave him a message?”

“I can have something rolling across the television screen for when he opens his eyes again, though I’m not sure that he’ll be able or willing to read it,” the AI responded.

“We’ll try it anyway. Write uh, ‘Matt visited, he didn’t find the sweater funny, you can come to his next party.’ Oh! Add, ‘He will teach you to make a cake.’”

“Are you certain that’s wise?” JARVIS asked.

“I’m sure I’ll manage. They don’t call me the man without fear for nothing.”


End file.
